I snort. “What gave it away?” I reach to pat my hair.
Joe’s wife, Svetlana, smacks his shoulder with the back of her hand.
“What?” he grumbles. “I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he says, horror dawning on his expression. His eyes dart back to mine. “I only meant that it looks like you’ve been traveling and?—”
“Quit while you’re ahead,” Svetlana advises, winking at me.
I laugh and shake my head, taking a sip of the wine. I close my eyes, relishing it before I kiss Gage’s father, Jorge’s, cheek in greeting. “Happy Anniversary, Mr. G.”
He grins at me warmly. “How many times have I asked you to call me Jorge?” he asks in Spanish.
“Too many,” I reply in the same tongue.
He harrumphs good-naturedly and gestures for me to take a seat.
I greet the rest of the family seated around the table. Gage’s sisters, Alejandra and Jessica, their husbands, Mark and Ricardo, and a cousin, Pablo and his wife Martina.
“You must stay for our party,” Mrs. G says, placing a charcuterie board in the center of the table. Immediately, her children reach for it, and she smacks their hands. “We have a guest! I know I raised you better than this.”
“Ehh.” Svetlana wrinkles her nose.
“Not a chance,” Ricardo agrees.
Alejandra laughs and sets a plate with a variety of offerings in front of me. “It’s good to see you, Callie. I had no idea you were coming.”
“Me neither,” I admit. I glance around the table, at the expectant glances of Gage’s family, waiting for the news on my end. “I should probably talk to Gage first,” I add. It’s hard not to be swept away by his family’s warmth. The Gutierrezes are unlike any other family I’ve known.
They’re loud and opinionated and very involved in each other’s lives. But they’re also loyal and loving and have each other’s backs, no questions asked. It’s the type of family I’d always yearned to be a part of, but I’ve pushed those thoughts—those wants—far from my mind in the past few years.
For starters, I’m forty-four years old and the odds of my marrying and having children seem less likely with each passing year. As my last two boyfriends perceptively pointed out—I’m married to my work.
And Dad’s passing two years ago, on the heels of losing my grandmother, has left me unmoored. I’m not rooted to any family, save for myself. The more I accept that hard fact of life, the better off I’ll be.
It’s why I’ve thrown myself into work over the past few years with a ferocity that gobbled up any potential relationship. No dates have become anything more than a casual exchange. I haven’t allowed it.
Just like I can’t allow myself to be pulled into the orbit of the Gutierrezes. As warm as their hugs are, as soothing as their laughter feels, as much as I’d like to sit at their table and drink their wine, I’m here for work.
“He’s just gonna tell us anyway,” Jessica points out truthfully.
I smirk. “I know. But…he’s my client.”
“Tell me what?” Gage’s voice rings out from behind me.
I turn in my chair and pull in a sharp inhale through my nose when I see him. Damn that man. Why the hell does he have to be as attractive as he is irritating?
Gage leans against the doorframe to the kitchen. His corded arms are crossed over his broad chest, one ankle flung over the other. He’s wearing olive green sweat shorts and a black tank that shows off his smooth, tanned skin and the colorful tattoos that trail over one bicep to wrap around his shoulder. A clump of calavera masks interspersed with flowers and tiny script writing I can’t make out from my seat.
His lips are pursed thoughtfully, his tongue peeking through from the side of his mouth the way it does when he’s deep in thought.
But his eyes hold mine. Dark brown, nearly black, and shaded with blatant curiosity.
I clear my throat and stand. I’ve only had one sip of wine but falter slightly, swaying on my feet so Mr. G jumps up and places a hand on my arm to steady me.
“Thanks.” I blush. “I swear it’s not the wine.”
“I know that,” Mr. G says, his gaze sharp. “You’re exhausted, Callie.”
“Worn out,” Mrs. G murmurs in agreement.
